My mind was a raging tempest, every thought a jagged shard of my shattered soul, swirling chaotically around the stormy eye of my fractured self. Shell-shocked? Nah, that doesn’t even begin to cut it—think soul-bombed. Everything clicked into this horrifying, neon-blinking sign of crity when our—um, sorry, my—so-called stalker’s identity decided to reveal itself. Not some cloak-and-dagger, garden-variety pest—nope, this was the real deal. Freaking Death herself.

  And before you conjure up a mental image of the cssic, doom-and-gloom Reaper with a badass scythe—get that right out of your head. That would’ve actually been cool. This was worse—a whole what-the-actual-fuck kind of nightmare.

  Picture it: a dark-gray-skinned Barbie—miniature size—dressed in a frilly pink gown like she’d just raided a haunted toy store and thought, “Oh, I wanna be a princess today.” Seriously, children are terrifying.

  Children? Pfft—she’s older than time itself.

  Don’t interrupt my drama-building moment.

  The dissonance was more jarring than my dissociative identity—like gearing up for a blood-curdling horror marathon, only to end up face-first in an ambush of snuggly puppies. Absolutely ridiculous, right? But hey, that’s my life—ridiculous doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

  And that was just the appetizer—the main course was still coming.

  The thing is, it wasn’t just about Death’s twisted cospy. It was what she said about Duskara. The Crone. Goddess of Dreams. The queen of creepy wardrobe choices, as I like to call her.

  We’ve never called her that.

  Shush! I’m building up the mood for the grand reveal.

  Why? The reader already knows.

  ...Don’t care, I’m in the zone. Now stop fucking interrupting me!

  Where was I again? Oh, right! Duskara’s fashion choices! She had her own rotating collection of forms: skeletal hands creeping out from beneath a shadow darker than my mood before caffeine? Check. Witchy old hag that could scare a dentist into early retirement? Also, check. Sprightly young maiden that looks like she just pranced out of a Disney movie, all sunshine and singing birds? Yep, that too.

  But hold on—none of that’s relevant right now, is it? Not that you need me to say that—you probably already knew.

  They do.

  Shush!

  The actual kick to the gut? Duskara, the deity of dreams, was the reason I even existed. She was the cosmic seamstress who patched my soul back together, one jagged shard at a time, using threads of her own essence. Rebirthing me in every sense of the word. Mother dearest indeed. I had died, not just body—hell no—my soul had been shattered, reduced to dust. And this goddess picked up those fragments, resculpted them into the broken being you’re reading about right now. Reborn, soul first. The kind of rebirth that transcends what reincarnation even dares to describe—a literal goddess’s kid.

  Forget therapy—try unpacking that at a family dinner. Mommy issues? Oh, I have them. In spades. But hey, at least now there’s more to my insanity than just pining after my soulmate, right? I mean, don’t get me wrong—I miss Aislinn a lot. But having a completely broken mind and a soul in shambles? That takes precedence in the “fucked-up" hierarchy, right? Not that I’m bragging, but if there’s a gold medal for being totally and utterly messed up, I’d like to think I’ve earned it.

  Ugh, we get it. Stop boasting about how screwed up you are—it’s getting old.

  Hey, fuck off!

  Aww, does the little whiny one want a pity party and a hug from mommy?

  I really hate you—uh, myself—sometimes.

  Once Death concluded our little heart-to-heart—which left me with the lovely realization that I have a mother—the little reaper dissolved into the ether, leaving me marooned in this damned dream realm, specifically inside a dream version of an adventurer’s guild. My mind buzzed with a hurricane of unasked questions and nebulous answers. Well, mostly just one important question: How the fuck do I get out of here and back to the waking world? My dungeon—a.k.a. my respawn point—no longer existed, which was a problem. A big problem.

  Before I could dwell on my predicament, reality decided to out-bizarre itself—again. Enter Gimona Grimmail, dwarf extraordinaire. Loud, wild-eyed, with a habit of groping anything within arm’s reach. She materialized from the hazy backdrop of the guild like some inappropriate fairy godmother, beckoning me to follow. And honestly, what choice did I have? Sure, I could’ve repyed that fun little nightmare I’d been subjecting these poor dream extras to. Blood, murder, mayhem—usually right up my alley. But my head was somewhere else entirely. The chaos and carnage just weren’t doing it for me at the moment.

  In true dream-logic fashion, the scene rewound itself, snapping me back—or maybe forward? Who even knows—to some earlier (or ter?) fragment of this never-ending dream sequence. My mind was elsewhere, so timelines were all a blur anyway. I found myself trailing behind the bearded dy, watching her gather supplies for her pathetic drake hunt. Her energy was pure, unfiltered chaos—frantic gestures, muttered curses—the whole package. Honestly, it reminded me of my inner voices on a caffeine binge.

  I could use some caffeine.

  Me too!

  Meanwhile, my fingers drifted through the air in front of me, swiping at the familiar digital panes of my status screen. Finally, it was reconnected, and seeing it felt like greeting an old friend—one with dyslexia (kinda like the author of this mess. Tee-hee! Let’s thank whichever deity invented editing software, or else you’d be reading something that looks like a cat walked across a keyboard). Oh, and let’s not forget the whole “safe mode” nonsense. All I knew was that the primary admin, the Primordial of Life, wasn’t around to fix it, so it had been half-working for who knows how long.

  I kept on finger-poking at the screen. Sure, I could just mentally swipe through my skills, but there’s something satisfying about physically clicking them—it makes everything feel a tad more real... well, as real as a holographic screen that only I can see can get. But honestly, when has being the only one to see bizarre stuff ever been out of character for me?

  The floating blue glow of the old-school computer screen was comforting, cshing hard against the gring strangeness of what y before me. My spells—my abilities—weren’t at all like how I’d left them. Familiar skills remained, but new, utterly alien ones blinked below, listed as New Selectable Css and Racial Skills Unlocked, practically begging to be selected. My eyes darted between them, each one more baffling than the st, my brain scrambling to keep up with whatever the hell had happened. And then I saw it up above—two hidden races. Titan and Demigoddess.

  Wait—Demigoddess? I'm a freaking demigoddess!

  Oh, and still an Eldritch Horror, with a subrace of Bck Pudding, but that’s less important—Demi! I was a demi! My heart—or whatever equivalent a cosmic goo creature had—skipped. A demigoddess, as in a literal divine being. I mean, sure, technically also an Eldritch Horror, but who cares when there’s a shiny new thing like that?

  I grinned like a lunatic—which, to be fair, I kind of was—and let my gaze drift to my skills. No real pn, no reason, just letting the good ol’ chaos take the wheel. My eyes settled on a particurly ominous one: Devourer. It practically winked at me. So, of course, I hovered my finger over it, my grin widening.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” I muttered, my finger clicking the skill without a second thought. Because when life hands you Devourer, you eat first and ask questions... never.

  And just like that—click—it was revealed.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Devourer]

  Description: Devour the essence of powerful foes by consuming mana-rich organs from their corpses, with a slight chance to acquire a portion of their arcane and combat proficiency. Stronger and more skilled enemies increase the odds, though success is rarely guaranteed.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Racial Skill

  Activation: Passive

  Select [Devourer]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “Huh, but that’s just Absorb, isn’t it?” I muttered, half-confused. My finger hovered as I pulled up Absorb to double-check.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Absorb]

  Description: Absorb the skills of a defeated target by consuming a portion of their corpse. Success rate increases with greater level disparity between you and a higher-level dungeon monster or system user. The success rate drops to zero if the target’s level is lower than your own.

  Status: Active

  Type: Racial Skill

  Activation: Cast

  Unselect [Absorb]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “Hey! That unselect option is new, isn’t it?” I hopped in pce, ignoring the stares from what were either ghosts, dreamers, or mere dream constructions... maybe? I shrugged it off.

  “Okay, so does that mean Devourer works on everyone, not just dungeon monsters and system users?” I mused aloud, excitement crackling in my voice as the cogs in my chaotic mind whirred. “Also, mana-rich organs? Huh, I can definitely do that,” I smirked, the corners of my mouth curling into a sinister grin, my voice dipped in a mischievous purr.

  Skill descriptions were always infuriatingly vague, skimping on the juicy details. It seemed Devourer was just an outright upgrade to Absorb, except with the added spice of needing to munch on certain organs—mana-rich ones, to be specific. Not that chomping on bits had ever stopped me before, skill or not. So, technically, it was all gain with a little extra fvor.

  “Hmm… Probably the brain, or the heart?” I tapped my chin, pondering which bits packed the most magical punch. “Though, can’t ignore the intestines and eyeballs—those are the yummiest bits after all,” I chuckled, my thoughts dancing dangerously between culinary and carnage.

  Shifting my focus from feasting and fiendish delights, I resumed navigating through the chaotic catalog of my skills. My gaze nded on Disintegration. With a flick of my finger, I selected it, eager to uncover the destructive potential its name hinted at.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Disintegration]

  Description: Harness the power of Disintegration to break down anything that contacts your Nightmare essence into nothingness. This power does not discriminate, affecting all but your own essence. Its effectiveness varies depending on the essence of the foe.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Racial Skill

  Activation: Passive

  Select [Disintegration]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “What’s all this essence mumbo-jumbo—is it like mana levels or something weirder?” I blurted out, squinting at the skill description like it was a puzzle designed to annoy me.

  I hate puzzles.

  Seriously, it’s the entire reason ‘we’ never finished Tomb Raider. Too many damn puzzles, not enough things to shoot.

  Initially, the concept of Disintegration sounded like pure, unadulterated badassery—zap! Dust! Poof! Everything I touch just disintegrates! Or... wait, was it anything that touches my essence? The thought wavered in my mind, gnawing at my excitement. Then the gears started grinding, and oh, the horror: what if my delicious potential snack turned to dust before I even had a chance to take a bite? That dark realization wiped the grin right off my face, leaving a big, fat frown pstered there instead.

  “Well, shit on a cracker,” I grumbled, the thrill souring into frustration at the thought of an evaporated meal.

  This power was a beast, no doubt—an epic boost to my Bck Pudding’s natural Corrosive talent—but man, it was like wielding a sledgehammer when you just needed a scalpel. Overkill much? Not that I’d ever back down from using it, but a girl’s gotta know when to hold back or you’re just nuking your own buffet. With a melodramatic sigh, I flicked through the chaos that was my skill list, nding on the next curiosity: Nightmare Dominion. Bring on the madness!

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Nightmare Dominion]

  Description: You have become an entity reborn into that of nightmares. You wield considerable influence within the Dream Realm. Wherever you may go, you can call forth this realm’s essence to you, amplifying your innate potential. Consequently, the strength of all your skills swells within your dominion.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Spell

  Activation: Cast

  Select [Nightmare Dominion]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  I tilted my head from side to side as I stared at the description.

  “So it’s like an AOE buff to my magic?” I pondered aloud for a moment. Barely fifteen seconds passed before I shrugged, already distracted, moving onto the next skill like a kid eager to tear into the next gift.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Phantasmal Mist]

  Description: Summon the essence of the Dream Realm as an enigmatic mist, distorting reality and cloaking the surrounding area. This mist confounds and ensnares the senses of anyone engulfed within it, blurring the lines between dreams, illusions, and waking reality. While it serves as a potent weapon, leaving foes vulnerable and disoriented, use it wisely—it underscores the fickle nature of dreams and nightmares.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Spell

  Activation: Cast

  Select [Phantasmal Mist]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “Yeah, that’s a debuff if I’ve ever seen one,” I murmured as I scratched my cheek. “Next!”

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Surge]

  Description: Tap into the essence between realities to surge forward, momentarily blurring into an ethereal haze during the burst. Beware—this movement risks trapping you between the metaphysical and ethereal pnes.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Ability

  Activation: Cast

  Select [Surge]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “What’s up with the warning? Pffft, like that’s gonna stop me!” A giggle of pure delight bubbled up, my excitement barely contained. “Did I seriously just get a second fsh step?” Sure, I already had Burst, but this one seemed like an upgraded version.

  My fingers practically danced across the screen as I eagerly clicked on the next skill, my enthusiasm swelling with each new discovery.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Threads of Horror]

  Description: Weave ethereal threads from the very fabric of nightmares. These beautiful yet terrifying strands manifest as whispers, ensnaring the senses of all who encounter them, drawing from the darkest corners of the mind to captivate, bewilder, and control.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Ability

  Activation: Cast

  Select [Threads of Horror]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  I blinked several times, trying to process the skill description. The implications were both profound and confusing as hell. Immediately, a chorus of voices from my shattered psyche chimed in with the same question: “Can I weave this into my silk shell?”

  Intrigued, I darted a quick gnce at my vulnerabilities and immunities. Nope, no miracles there—still annoyingly weak to Fire and Holy. How utterly frustrating. Maybe, just maybe, I could weave some kind of protection into my silk... Hmm. I shelved that thought for ter and eagerly moved on to the next skill.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Birthright]

  Description: Grasp your legacy! As one of the lost children of the Primordial of Life—a long-forgotten Titan—you gain additional system aid and insight, enhancing your understanding of ambient mana manipution and mastery over your skills.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Unique

  Activation: Passive

  Select [Birthright]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “More insight for being a Titan—well, part Titan now. Basically, I’m a magical mutt made up of all kinds of crazy shit,” I muttered, then suddenly excimed, “I’ll take it!” My grin spread, eyes glinting with mischief. “Anything that helps me learn my skills without leaning on the system? Hell yes!” I did a quick, triumphant jig, turning back to the screen, eager to see what other goodies awaited me.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Heiress]

  Description: Your dominion knows no boundaries. As the newly born Princess of the Realm of Dreams, all magic within the Dreamscape is amplified. From tranquil dreams to the darkest nightmares, all will recognize you as the rightful heir to the Goddess of Dreams—young nightmare, your power is limitless.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Unique

  Activation: Passive

  Select [Heiress]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “Really? Is it just me, or are these unique descriptions getting a bit too unique? Like they’re tailor-made just for me,” I muttered, squinting suspiciously at the screen. “And doesn’t this sound more like a title to anyone else?” I gnced around, hoping for a second opinion, but… nope, nothing. Even the dwarf had poofed, leaving me alone to my insane ramblings.

  I did a double take, half-expecting Death to pop out for a cryptic, mind-melting expnation, but nope—nothing. Typical. With a resigned sigh and no other choice, I scrolled onward, bracing myself for whatever came next.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Phantasmal Nightmare]

  Description: Transcend the physical and embody the eerie, spectral essence of the Dream Realm, manifesting as a waking nightmare. Your form shifts beyond tangibility, evoking the terror of a living dreamscape.

  Status: Inactive

  Type: Spell

  Activation: Cast

  Select [Phantasmal Nightmare]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “Umm… What?!” I gaped at the skill description. “This skill makes zero sense,” I muttered, bewilderment coloring my voice.

  I paused, reminding myself that skill descriptions were never really concrete definitions, more like vague suggestions. It was my understanding, my imagination, that shaped these abilities into something tangible—like how I’d turned Silk Webbing into the core of my “skin crafting” trick. Not exactly what it was intended for, but hey, it works. It’s all about my desire, my mental image, and exerting my will. That’s what gives these skills real power, not these half-baked descriptions. Honestly, the more vague it is, the more wiggle room I have to mold it into something useful.

  I was just about ready to dismiss my status screen, when something made me freeze. “Hold on... I forgot about Stelr Void.”

  I quickly scanned my Unique list—only to find something different sitting there instead. Divine Stelr Core.

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  SkillDetails

  [Divine Stelr Core]

  Description: No Data Avaible.

  Status: Active

  Type: Unique

  Activation: Cas—Pas—t—sive

  Error.

  Reinitializing SkillDetails...

  Error.

  Error.

  Unselect [Divine Stelr Core]?

  > YES

  > NO

  V:\>

  “What the shit?” I gasped, flinching as a loud buzzing noise accompanied the skill glitch. My eyes darted back to the flickering screen as I crossed my arms and scowled at it, like gring hard enough might force the damn thing to cooperate. “Great, thanks for nothing, ‘No Data Avaible.’” I huffed. My frustration peaked when the buzzing stopped but left me with absolutely nothing useful.

  And then—WHAM—a face abruptly phased through my status screen, like some ghost deciding now was the perfect time for a jumpscare.

  “Oi, it’s a wee bit odd watchin’ ye have a chat with yerself, isn’t it?” Gimona’s smirking face mocked me.

  Ha! You totally screamed!

  I am you, so technically it was you that screamed.

  Ignoring the internal peanut gallery, I shot Gimona a ft, unimpressed look. Where in all the Dreamscape did she come from? I was alone literally two seconds ago, right? I mean… probably? Ugh, whatever.

  Part of me—a much more fun part—considered ripping her face off just to watch the delightful chaos unravel. But, I’d learned the hard way not to attack dream-people without warning. Endless repeating nightmares sucked... well, not entirely. There was a certain thrill to an eternity of sughter.

  Still, I pasted on a crooked, forced smile and said, “Lead the way, oh fearless dwarf.”

  Gimona’s eyes narrowed, her expression flickering somewhere between confusion and suspicion. Then she shrugged and moved ahead, leading us toward the city gates and into the infinite desert beyond.

  Sand crunched beneath our feet—the rhythmic monotony stretching out like an endless yawn, my mind happily wandering somewhere far less boring. Hadn’t she mentioned something about a sand sail the st time I pyed out this part of the dream? Yeah, that would’ve saved us from this soul-crushing trudge. Where’s the fun in all this tedious walking anyway?

  By the time we reached the canyon, a bunch of rabid goblins decided to make things interesting—again. My reflexes kicked in before I even had a chance to think about using one of my shiny new skills, and I instinctively channeled mana into Necrotic Fme. Except… what the hell? No green and purple ominous glow this time. Instead, a bright, radiant orange bze burst forth—an orange way too familiar, like the glow in my own eyes when I catch my reflection. Seriously, who messed with my settings?

  Huh. Weird.

  Gimona, meanwhile, was doing her usual bit—ranting about my magical brilliance, tossing out terms like ‘magus’ and ‘grand magus’ like they actually mattered. Her words drifted into background noise, drowned out by my own mental chaos, until we made it into the cave and found… oh hey, a gathering! Anlyth, Craycroft, Ezad…

  And… wait, who the hell was that gnome?

  My eyes zeroed in on the unfamiliar shortie, my brain scrambling to catch up. “Who the hell are you?” I blurted out, blunt as ever.

  The gnome straightened, looking equal parts amused and proud. “Nelzar, at your service. I’m the party’s healer.”

  “Where’s… Tes? Or was it Niko? Where’s that steampunk-wannabe gnome from before?” My annoyance was pretty clear—who did this new guy think he was, repcing my usual gnome?

  “Steam what?” Nelzar blinked, thoroughly puzzled.

  “Forget it!” I threw my hands up. “Let’s just go sy that drake and get this dream over with.”

  Without waiting for their responses, I spun on my heel, fully expecting to face that undead drake... except it wasn’t there. With an exasperated huff, I stomped out of the cave. Honestly, pying out this dream probably wasn’t the best use of my time. What I should have been doing was figuring out which skills to deselect and which new ones to activate. But let’s be real, I operated like a cssic Karen—pure reaction, zero forethought.

  A chorus of “Wait!” erupted behind me.

  Pfft, dramatic much?

  I was this close to turning this whole scenario into a murderous musical—my frustration reaching peak levels. But just as I was about to start a homicidal rendition of “It’s Raining Brains,” the canyon filled with a different kind of chorus. Echoing footsteps—lots of them. My eyes followed a ghastly figure as it sprinted past, its hollow eyes locked on some unseen prey. Then another followed, then another, until the canyon became this nightmarish parade of rotting nightmares, each more grotesque than the st.

  “By the gods...” Gimona muttered, her voice dripping with dread. “It’s a bleedin’ undead horde.” Her face turned a shade whiter, almost matching the pallor of the horde.

  Now, the sight of a full-on undead parade? Normally, that’s totally my vibe—drool-worthy, goth fantasy material. But here? In this stale-ass dream world? Ugh, it’s getting old real fast. Seriously, universe, really? All I wanted was to wake up and peace out back to my gorgeous vampire babe. But nooo, instead I’m stuck in line behind a literal queue of undead at Zombie-Con.

  Really, universe? Really?

  “Oh, would ya look at that,” Anlyth said, sidling up next to me with the kind of awe I’d save for, I dunno, a nice pair of boots? She stared down at the endless procession of the dead shuffling through the canyon below.

  From our current perch—an almost-too-convenient quasi-balcony—we had the ultimate front-row view of Zombiepalooza. Honestly, it was Insta-worthy—if, you know, Instagram existed here, and I could get decent reception. But let’s be real, our ‘hidden’ status? Totally on borrowed time. My priority? Operation wake the fuck up! Though hey, gotta give props to whoever orchestrated this massive undead parade. Respect for the goth dedication.

  And just when I’m mentally sending those props, suddenly I’m... floating? Yeah, floating. Like that time you inhaled way too much helium—only way less funny and a lot more out-of-body nightmare. There’s Craycroft below, waving his hands around like he’s some glowstick-wielding orchestra conductor. Real subtle, buddy.

  The rest of the group seemed set on some magic-assisted evac—good for them, I guess. But me? I was here to not be here anymore. So, whatever scenic detour this is, my eyes are still on the prize—waking the hell up!

  Ugh, maybe let me handle the narration for a bit. Your group sounds a bit... caffeinated.

  What? I thought we were nailing the whole geek vibe.

  Rolling my eyes at myself (cssic me), I kept my gaze fixed on the undead.

  Just... recharge your batteries, okay?

  Oh, come on. Your faction always goes full soap opera when you narrate.

  That’s because we have a fir for the dramatic!

  More like an addiction—

  Hey!

  It’s true.

  You know what? Whatever. Where were we?

  The undead horde was, objectively, a sight to behold. The muted light of the canyon gave their slow, shuffling procession an eerie beauty—like a grim dance of decay. The rhythmic shuffle of their rotting feet across the dusty earth was oddly hypnotic, lulling me into some grim, poetic reverie.

  Until, of course, Craycroft yanked me back to “reality”—literally. A sudden magical tug sent me airborne, and before I knew it, I was soaring like some unwilling kite on a windy day. The altitude’s chill mixed with this weird, buoyant magic cocooning me. Below, Craycroft’s fingers danced like he was crocheting the world’s weirdest bnket, glowing threads pulling us up the cliff face. My Mana Sight picked up on it, each strand shimmering as he tried to put as much distance as possible between us and the undead carnival below.

  Daring a gnce downward, I caught sight of the horde from above. Even from this new height, it didn’t get any less freaky—an endless, shuffling mass of the damned, flowing like a river of death through the canyon, a tide of decay that seemed to stretch on into the horizon.

  Too dramatic!

  Shut up! Just let us narrate for a bit.

  Ugh… fine, but you’re totally leaving out the saliva-dripping, stomach-growling aroma. You know, the good shit!

  Upon reaching the canyon’s zenith, I tore my gaze away from the grotesque undead procession below and instead found myself face to face with... a desert yacht? It looked like some kind of dusty catamaran—a shrunken-down, bootleg version of those sleek dual-hulled ships I’d drooled over in magazines. For a fleeting moment, a wicked thought flitted across my mind: murder the entire group and take this quirky little vessel for myself. It would’ve been so easy. So fun. The violent daydream nearly had me giggling.

  Is it really a daydream when you’re inside a dream?

  Um... yes?

  But then the nagging weight of a never-ending nightmare intruded, reminding me of the perpetual loop that came with recklessness. Stupid consequences. I swallowed the urge, suppressing the sinister itch, and instead cmbered aboard the vessel, my expression settling into a pout.

  And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, Ezad decided that plopping the wrong gnome—yes, the wrong one—right onto my p was a fantastic idea. The tiny creature was barely the size of a toddler, and I found myself immediately chanting a silent mantra: Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. The mantra quickly became an audible whisper, slipping past my lips without my permission.

  The gnome, his eyes wide with arm, looked up at me. “Did you say something?”

  “Just talking to the wind,” I replied, trying to sound casual, though the awkward tension between us was anything but.

  The dwarf, Gimona, plopped down beside me, letting out a bellowing yell when she saw the headless gnome in my p!

  ...A fourth repy of this dream ter, and the gnome was now alive. Lucky little guy.

  The dwarf, Gimona, flopped down beside me again, her weight sinking the tiny desert yacht deeper into the sand. She fshed me a toothy grin, her voice thick with that heavy accent of hers. “I’d wager they’re headin’ to Sethia,” she rumbled, trying to sound lighthearted, though the fear still glimmered behind her eyes. “We won’t be catchin’ a wink with that siege on the horizon. Best we make haste with our warnin’.” Her voice tried for joviality, but the weight behind it betrayed her true worry.

  I returned her smile with a glint of mischief, my eyes betraying the darker thoughts swirling in my head. If this dream was repying an old memory, then I knew exactly where we were: the first fall of Sethia. That oncoming nightmare whispered a tempting lulby, drawing me in. Because somewhere in the darkness, beneath that relentless horde, I could feel it—her. A magnetic pull that only one being ever had over me. My vampire. Even if it was just a fleeting illusion within the Dream Realm, the mere idea of seeing her again sent a pang of longing through my shattered soul.

  The presence of the wrong gnome squirming in my p snapped me back to reality as the sand sail set off, leaving behind the undead-choked canyon. My eyes lingered on the horizon, where she might be—just out of reach. The weight of longing stung my eyes, each blink an attempt to capture her silhouette. But the wind’s whisper reminded me: to be with her again, I needed to wake the fuck up!

  Why are we still here?

  Poor writing, probably.

  ...

  Ezad’s voice shattered my reverie, his tone like a sudden buzz in my ear. “Never seen the undead in such numbers.”

  I arched a brow in his direction. Ezad... Memories blurred—tentacles, his neck snapping. Was this the real Ezad—like, the actual soul—or just some dream-projection summoned by someone else’s subconscious? Did it matter? Not particurly.

  The dunes rolled beneath us like waves, our vessel sliding over them as if mocking the sluggish pace of mere mortals. Every so often, the sail would catch a particurly gusty breeze, and we’d lift off the sand for a moment—a fleeting flight before diving back down.

  Voices murmured behind me, thick with tension. “We need to get the word out,” Anlyth said, her voice a wavering whisper.

  “And what good will that do?” Craycroft, the realist, shot back. “The city’s walls aren’t built for this... tide.” He paused, clearly picking his words carefully. “They don’t eat, they don’t sleep, and they don’t stop. We need to find a way to end them.”

  Their fear hung thick in the air, almost tangible, and a wry smile crept onto my lips. They kept on strategizing, their voices low and hurried, while I stayed silent. Meeting Death had taught me the value of patience—or so I’d like to think. So, I sat back, taking it all in, ears pricked for the muffled cries of the gnome whose mouth I covered while a tentacle did its work beneath the surface, slowly dissolving him from the back end as the others kept talking, blissfully unaware of the horror I was orchestrating right in my p.

  Seriously? I really don’t want to repy this dream sequence again just because some version of me can’t resist going full psycho.

  Stop acting like we’re not enjoying it!

  Oh, fine.

  Anlyth’s voice cut through the air again, trembling slightly, like she was trying to hold onto hope by a thread. “Could we evacuate the survivors before it’s too te?”

  “If we get one of the ancient portals working,” Craycroft replied with a sigh, his voice weighed down with grim practicality. “But that’s gonna take time we might not have.”

  Ezad puffed up, taking on some weird, self-imposed role as the leader. I almost snorted aloud. “That’s the best pn we’ve got,” he decred. “Nelzar, when we reach Sethia, you get word to the High Priest. Craycroft, start on that portal. Anlyth, cover the mage. You too, warrior.”

  The others nodded like soldiers receiving orders from a king, while I covertly nodded the gnome’s head in agreement, puppet-style, right in my p. Their focus was too fixed on the task at hand to notice me, like I’d faded into the background—a ghost among shades. Maybe that’s exactly what I was, wandering through someone else’s memories.

  The sand sail skidded to a stop at the city gates, and an idea sparked. With a wicked grin, I nudged Nelzar, shoving him off my p and watching as he hit the sand face-first. His sputtering and muffled curses that followed brought me a small, deeply satisfying sense of joy.

  Yeah, I know—I killed him and hollowed him out like a puppet, but that was, what, three dream sequences ago? I would’ve filled you in, but honestly, this whole dream repy’s gotten redundant. Just know I’m on, like, my third—or maybe twenty-sixth—approach to the city gates. The st few times, Anylth noticed the dead gnome, and things got... messy. You don’t need a py-by-py of how many times she—I mean, I—won.

  Drawing a deep breath, I murmured, “Now, how do I wake up?”

  1

  Like what you read? Wait—you actually did? Well, hot damn! I thought I was the only one with mental issues!

  To the rest of you, Shoo! Nobody wants your sanity here—I mean, please keep reading. Oh, and leave a good review as well. Hee-hee!

  Okay, back to you crazies! Come on over to Patreon to read ahead. Loads of FREE shiny chaos for all you freeload—ahem—potential future sacrifices! Wait, that’s not right… umm free following members? Yeah. That’s it! Including Book 2 edits, tweaks, touch-ups, and probably a few mental breakdowns scribbled in the margins. That’s right, all free!

  Come now, and I’ll even throw in a virgin sacrifice… Or I would—but those are for paid subscribers. I’m saving them for a special occasion.

  Enjoy the madness while I’m off my meds!

  I also have a cult following on Discord… At least, I think I do? If not, then it’s just the voices in my head—again. Either way—we’ve got cookies! Or biscuits? Stuffed with meat! Just… don’t ask what kind of meat. Or where the previous cult members went. Tee-hee!

  Toodle-loo!

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